We Went Mad
by aaliyahcrosses
Summary: "…To survive in the world, you have to give up the fantasies, the make-believe." ― ROB THURMAN, NIGHTLIFE (ft.: Extreme OOC, disillusioned broken!honey lemon, bad boy broken!Hiccup, Honeycup pairing)
1. 缘分

_**We Went Mad**_

 _"…To survive in the world, you have to give up the fantasies, the make-believe." ― ROB THURMAN, **NIGHTLIFE**_

 **Warnings:** Extreme OOC (disillusioned+broken!honey lemon, bad boy+broken!Hiccup). Language.

* * *

 _One: Yuanfen_

* * *

缘分 / 緣分 / _Yuanfen_ (Chinese): _A relationship by fate or destiny._

* * *

"Do you believe that there's such a thing as soulmates?" he took a whiff on his cigarette.

They were at the balcony of his place, looking down on the city. City lights: they looked like stars. And perhaps ever since she moved to this city, they have been her stars. Her very own a variety of colors. She liked to imagine she was falling through them, every time she stays at his place.

"No," she responded as she sat on the railings, looking at him. "Who would want to always have this person beside their lives? Who would ever want to be in love with the same person over and over and over again?"

He chuckled. "There are people who would actually want that, you know. Who knows, maybe me too?"

It was a lie. She believed in soulmates, but she didn't want too. Falling in love with someone who doesn't even love you back is too much. And if that happened all throughout her lives, well, her life is a messed up life, indeed.

He smiled.

She closed her eyes, and tried to imagine she was falling through her stars, through a sea of neon lights. Instead, she felt like drowning in his smile, in his eyes.

* * *

"Do you remember when I asked you about soulmates?"

This time he crashed on her place.

She was all bundled up in her blankets because she was sick. She was watching some sort of crappy comedy show. She looked at him. He came and walked in from the kitchen shirtless with a can of beer on his hand.

"What about it? And you should really tell me first before you get stuff from my fridge."

"But you don't tell me when you get from mine," he protested and laughed. "How about fate?"

"What? If I believe in it?"

"Yep."

She turned her head and looked at the TV set. "I don't believe we're ever fated to do something. No destinies."

"Ah, but what if you're fated to believe that miss?"

She pursed her lips—she wanted to retort, but couldn't think of anything.

* * *

There was a time she bailed the boy out of jail. She clucked her tongue. He was impossible. He was in and out of jail. She was always there to bail.

"Took you about..." he looked at his watch, "eighteen minutes later than usual?"

"I actually didn't want to go." She glared at him, and then stared at the waves crashing on the shore. She threw a rock on the water. "I've had enough of you."

He smiled at her. The _bastard_ fucking _smiled_ at _her_. "Remember fate?"

"What about it?" she snapped.

"Haven't you thought that maybe you're fated to hate me altogether?"

And she realized then, that's what this was all about. He was trying to make her hate him. She opened her mouth to say something, to take back whatever she said because really, she doesn't hate him. She hates what he's doing to her. She's had enough of _that_. But he was the one who spoke first.

"I knew from the very start. Just didn't want to tell you. Because I like you I've too much scars. And I'm too scared for... _us_."

And it makes sense, and she's hurt because what he said means that he liked her, but he doesn't think she's worthy enough. "I could've shown you mine too."

"No," he said. "Thing is, you could never share your scars. Scars are yours. Yours and yours alone."

She doesn't know if she should laugh or cry. So she laughed. There was a bitter tinge to it, but she laughed as she sat down on the sand. "When I was younger I always wanted to be a princess. But now I doubt that."

He sat down beside her. He was sorry—you could see it in his eyes. "Maybe because you made me your prince, when I'm actually a dragon."

She looked at him and smirked then looked up at a bird—possibly a seagull—she doesn't even know anymore because tears were blurring her vision. Crap. She blinked rapidly to stop the tears from falling. "Yeah..." she croaked, her voice at the edge of breaking. "Maybe because I had a dragon for a prince."


	2. Forelsket

_Two: Forelsket_

* * *

 _Forelsket_ (Norwegian): The euphoria you experience when you're first falling in love.

* * *

She was sleeping. She coughed and opened her eyes-to smoke. He was blowing his cigarette in front of her face.

"Damn you!" she yelled as she pushed him off. When she successfully did, she began wafting off the smoke and opening her windows.

He laughed as he threw he cigarette down on her bedroom floor and stepped on it. "I just wanted to see you open the windows yourself."

After that day, she made sure she wouldn't see him. She avoided him. More accurately, she avoided everyone. She didn't get out of her apartment. It's been almost a week. It was true she didn't open her windows. She didn't clean, didn't do anything. Just lie there. She felt numb, she felt like she's an empty shell.

"Fuck you too," she mumbled as she sat back down the bed. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm a dragon," he was grinning. She hated that. She hated how he grinned. Because his grins meant trouble. For him or for the person he was grinning at, or even for the both of them—it didn't matter. It was trouble.

She looked away. "So?"

"Where would I be without my tamer?"

The blonde glared at him, "Fuck off."

She didn't even know how it happened—he was fast: he suddenly had her pinned to the nearby wall, face dangerously close to hers. She opened her mouth to utter a protest, but he already spoke before she could.

"When you tame something, you're responsible for it. You'll always be responsible for it," he said. "Remember that."

And then he was kissing her, or she was kissing him—she really didn't know anymore.

It was breathtaking and harsh and soft and nice—a mixture of different things. He smelled and tasted of smoke and fire and _him_.

And she hated it. She hated how much she liked she pushed him away roughly. And when she did and she looked at him, all she could see was the surprise and the hurt suddenly visible on his eyes and she realized why he was doing this. It was too quick, too fast, all because he's scared she'd leave him too. And she almost did, to be honest. _She almost did_.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, almost crying. "I'm sorry."

And he was kissing her again but this time gentler and slower while whispering apologies right back at her.

"I love you," she said in between kisses. "I love you. I'm sorry."

"I know."

And for now, that's enough.


End file.
